A Promise Made
by kaly
Summary: The night before they leave Hogwarts, Ron goes to find Harry. Major spoilers for OotP. You're warned.


Title: A Promise Made  
  
Author: kaly (razrbkr@juno.com)  
  
Homepage: the shadowland - kaly's Fan Fiction: http://www.geocities.com/kalyw  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Archive: is there one?  
  
Spoilers: danger will robinson - OotP spoilers abound  
  
Warnings: angst  
  
Timeframe: Fifth year.  
  
Summary: The night before they leave Hogwarts, Ron goes to find Harry.   
  
Feedback: if you're so inclined.  
  
Notes: OotP has given me about five bunnies. But this is the one that wanted written. I'm trying to work out an issue or two with this book, specifically with Harry, and this is my therapy. ;)  
  
Thanks go out to Merry. :)  
  
Disclaimer: JKR. Scholastic. WB. They have the say and the (much more since last week) money, not me.  
  
A Promise Made  
  
Ron woke with a start, his breath coming in quick gasps -- as it was wont to do when one was unexpectedly woken from a sound sleep. He looked around the room quickly. His first thought, as it so often was of late, was for Harry. Squinting across the room, trying to see in the faint moonlight drifting through the window, Ron was alarmed to see that Harry's bed was empty.  
  
After everything that had happened, the sight of Harry's empty bed made Ron queasy. Swiftly, but as quietly as possible, Ron rose from his own bed and moved nearer to Harry's -- to double check that he wasn't mistaken. However once he was closer Ron could tell the bed hadn't been slept in. His worry growing, Ron left the dorm room, pausing only to pull the door closed behind him.  
  
Any number of places came to mind when Ron tried to think of where Harry might be. Unfortunately, without the Invisibility Cloak, his options were severely limited. Ron chewed on his lip as he descended the stairs, hoping Harry might for once make it easy and just be in the Common Room.  
  
He reached the Common Room and found it shrouded in heavy shadows. The moonlight that had filtered into the room above did little to breach them. A low burning -- almost dying -- fire crackled in the hearth, causing odd shapes to flicker across the chairs and tables.  
  
Turning in a slow circle, afraid that Harry had indeed fled the tower and was out of his reach, Ron almost missed him. If not for the reflection of the firelight on Harry's glasses, barely visible themselves over Harry's knees, he would have.  
  
Harry had never been as tall as Ron, but it still surprised him how small Harry looked curled up on one end of a loveseat. It sat at an angle to the fire -- the only reason Ron had seen him -- but not close enough to provide any warmth.   
  
Ron hesitated, taking a step forward and pausing. He had hardly been Harry's favorite person to talk to of late. More so since their return from the Ministry and release from the Healer's ward. Yet he couldn't just leave his best friend sitting alone in the dark without at least trying.  
  
A silent, mirthless laugh tore from his throat and he shook his head. Now or never, he found himself thinking as he crossed the room and approached the couch slowly. His fear that he might startle Harry faded as it appeared the other boy hadn't noticed his careful approach.  
  
He stood there quietly for a long moment before something flickered in Harry's eyes. Or possibly it was the fire on his glasses, Ron wasn't certain. He'd barely had time to think on it when Harry's head tilted slightly and Ron was staring into green eyes more open than he'd seen them in months. Especially since... even Ron's thoughts drifted away at the memory of the past few days.   
  
It had only been two days since they were released from Madame Pomfrey's care, the next day would see them returning to life outside the castle. Back to the Burrow. He wondered half-heartedly where the Order would go, now that, thanks to Kreacher, Grimmauld Place was no longer an option. But as it was something for others to decide, Ron didn't let himself worry on it.  
  
The thought of Harry, however, going back to his nasty relatives after everything... That bothered Ron more. That had helped pull Ron from bed in the middle of the night in search of his friend.   
  
He had tried to keep Hermione off Harry's back about it all. Done his best to shush her whenever she'd tried to mention Sirius. Still, it didn't stop Ron from worrying what would happen when Harry went back to Privet Drive being torn apart by it.   
  
"Ron?" Harry asked, pulling Ron away from his thoughts. He blinked, wondering how long he'd been standing there staring at his friend. He couldn't help but notice how rough Harry's voice sounded.  
  
With a shake of his head, Ron moved toward the loveseat. Uncertain, he paused for a moment before sitting at the opposite end from Harry. He didn't want Harry to feel crowded.  
  
"Hi ya, Harry," he said in a whisper. He had to fight the urge to look away from Harry's gaze.   
  
"I know we haven't talked much of late... like we used to, I mean." Plucking at the sleeve of his pajamas, Ron did look at his hands for a moment. "But I saw you gone, and I was worried." Ron risked a look at Harry then. "Another nightmare?"  
  
Harry shook his head, although his gaze looked as if it was fixated on Ron's hands as well. "No," he said in a very low voice. He shook his head again, and Ron wondered if Harry even realized he was doing it. "Not since..." Harry blinked slowly and Ron's breath caught in his throat. Another shake of Harry's head and the thought seemed lost. "I'm sorry."  
  
The abrupt statement caught Ron off guard and he looked at Harry, confused. "You're what?" Apparently the lack of sleep was only adding to the other boy's troubles. But Harry merely gestured at Ron's hands with a quick tilt of his head. Ron looked down, following his line of sight and realized what he meant.   
  
Although Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction had helped, and the bandages had been removed, there were still puffy, red scars crisscrossing his arms. Ron tugged at his sleeves, trying to hide them. He'd likely never be rid of them, he knew. Ron shrugged. "You didn't do it."  
  
Harry did look up then, catching Ron's eye quickly before looking away once more. "I..."  
  
"No," Ron interrupted, his voice holding a rough edge. He waited until Harry would again look at him before continuing. "I'll admit it's a bit fuzzy, what happened down there. But I remember a few things, and it wasn't your voice that called out for the brains or your hands that reached for the ribbons. It was me. You didn't curse me either. That was one of the others..." Ron fought back a shudder at the memory.  
  
Harry seemed to debate that. "You were there because of me. Because I was stupid and blind and arrogant."  
  
"I was there because I wanted to be. It's not always just about your choices, Harry. It was my decision. You think I would have let you go alone? That I could have?" Ron shook his head, feeling sad. "You know better than that. Or you did. Once."   
  
Ron sighed and leaned back against the couch arm. "I'm worried about you," he said several moments later.  
  
Harry bristled at that. "I'm fine." His voice was cool and Ron fought the urge to sigh once more. That seemed to happen a lot since coming back to Hogwarts.  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
Harry stood suddenly and Ron watched, as his legs seemed to fall out from beneath him. Probably asleep from sitting in such an awkward position, Ron barely had time to think, before he half-stood, reaching out a hand to Harry. But Harry regained his balance and pushed Ron's hand away.   
  
"You couldn't understand," he snarled. And Ron couldn't remember Harry sounding so cruel, even during the tournament. "You're not an orphan. Everyone you love doesn't die." Harry shuddered and collapsed within himself, falling back onto the couch. His face hidden within his hands, Harry muttered, "An orphan. Again."  
  
Ron shook his head, feeling helpless. He wanted to say that he did understand. That he was sorry. That he should never have asked, or even ventured downstairs. But all of the words were stuck in his throat. Nothing he could think to say made sense. It all sounded trivial even to his own ears. He opened his mouth only to close it again as he stared at Harry's hanging head.   
  
Finally he managed, somehow, to push five words through his throat. "No. But I can listen."  
  
Harry moved suddenly, throwing himself backwards so that his head rested on the back of the loveseat and he stared upward. "Talking won't solve anything."  
  
Something in Ron broke at the brittle sound of Harry's voice. How it seemed to waiver on the edge something dark and deep and desperate. Screwing up his courage, and taking a chance he would never dare in the light of day, Ron asked, "Would Sirius want you to lock yourself away? To sit and hide in the dark, hurting, alone?"  
  
"Don't Ron," Harry said in a low, almost dangerous voice.  
  
If Harry was standing at the edge of a cliff about to fall off, then Ron was standing beside him refusing to let him. He couldn't let well enough alone all of a sudden. Although common sense was still screaming in the back of his mind, Ron ignored it.  
  
"Please, Harry." Ron begged. He knew he was begging. He didn't care.   
  
"Why are you here?" Harry asked, seconds later. And although his voice was far from welcoming, it's not the brittle ice it was before.  
  
Ron stared at Harry, hardly believing his ears. How could he ask that? After all they'd survived... His chest tightening, Ron tried to explain. "You're my best friend. You know that, Harry. Or I thought you did. I'm here because you need me to be. Like I was in the forest, and at the Ministry." He paused, hating the thought that followed. "Even if you don't want me to be." Thinking the words had hurt and saying them only drove the pain of doubt deeper.  
  
Harry was silent for a long time. So long, in fact, Ron feared he had pushed to far just by pushing at all. He had begun to berate himself -- for not following his own advice -- when Harry finally spoke.  
  
"I'm scared."  
  
Surprised, thankful, and not entirely sure he wanted to know, all at the same time, Ron asked, "Of what?"  
  
"Believing that it's real. Failing everyone. Falling. Feeling anything at all." Harry shrugged, looking lost. "Any of them. All of them."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them and Ron winced. The last thing Harry needed was such empty words. He was somewhat surprised when Harry nodded.  
  
Feeling bold, Ron risked saying, "I know I can't do much about... everything. But I can do my best." When Harry spared him a glance out of the corner of his eye, Ron continued. "At least I can catch you." When Harry blinked in confusion, Ron flushed, suddenly felt silly explaining: "You know. If you fall."   
  
Harry did turn and look at him then, not looking quite so distant. Ron's voice faltered, shaking his head he whispered, "You don't have to be alone. Just like you wouldn't leave me alone, after Scabbers..." Ron winced. Scabbers seemed such a trivial thing compared to what Harry had lost. And knowing how Scabbers had hurt Sirius only made it worse. How he had hurt Harry, time and again.   
  
He was surprised again, though, when Harry asked in a small voice, "Promise?"  
  
Ron nodded, shaken, relieved and any number of other things. With utter conviction, he said, "'Til the day I die, Harry." The words felt heavy, Ron couldn't help but think, but true all the same.  
  
Harry winced, pain flashing in his eyes. In a broken whisper he said, "Don't say that, Ron. I can't..." Whatever else Harry meant to say was left hanging, but Ron could guess.  
  
He felt bad for probably just making matters worse, but didn't reply. Instead Ron asked, "The dreams really aren't back?" Harry shook his head and Ron dared, "Can you sleep at all?"  
  
"I don't want to."  
  
"You should try. We've the train back tomorrow."  
  
Harry nodded, staring into the fire. "I'm sorry," he said in a quiet voice, refusing to look at Ron.  
  
Confused, and having made to stand, Ron collapsed back onto the seat. Hadn't they already covered this? What on earth could Harry have to be sorry for? Ron wondered. After all, Harry was the one suffering. He should be the comforted, not the other way around.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I've not acted much like a friend of late, much less a best friend." Harry looked at him then, quickly before turning away. "It's just so much. There's so much ahead and behind. Coming." Harry sounded exhausted, defeated.  
  
Ron felt like he was missing something. Something important. But he refused to pressure Harry into talking about any more than he already had. Surely he had meddled enough already. What he was missing, that was just something that would have to come in its own time, he supposed.  
  
He settled for, "It's okay, Harry." Even though he felt hollow, wincing as the words left his mouth. Everything was about as far from okay as he'd ever known it to be.  
  
"Maybe it will be," Harry said.   
  
Ron wanted desperately to ignore the shadows he saw lurking in Harry's eyes but he couldn't. But neither could he ask. Showing more restraint that he was known for, Ron remained silent. "But I am sorry for being such a prat, Ron. I am glad your the Keeper. You deserved to win, even if I was too jealous to see that. Or to be there for you when you lost."  
  
Wanting to smile, but unable, Ron reached across the couch so that his hand was almost touching Harry's shoulder. Almost, but not quite. It seemed the gap between them was too far to cross, after all. "They'll overturn that old bat's decrees, Harry. You'll play again. Next year."   
  
And even though Ron was wondering what might become of next year, with war upon them, he couldn't bring himself to mention it. He didn't want to think on it, much less speak of it. He knew Harry was aware of it just the same, more so he knew.  
  
Ron stood and waited until Harry followed suit. Once he was sure Harry was steady on his feet, Ron turned toward the stairs. "Ron?" he heard Harry ask and he turned. Harry hadn't moved. "Thank you."  
  
Smiling, and although it was faint, it was genuine; Ron dropped his arm across Harry's shoulders. Tugging him toward the stairs -- and if the stars were generous, a calm night's sleep -- Ron said, "Maybe you are a prat, Harry." They had taken two steps when he added, "But you're my prat. Just don't forget that again."  
  
"I won't," Harry said quietly. "And if I want to..." Harry paused, sounding conflicted. "If I want to talk..."  
  
"Neither Mum nor your horrible relatives could stop me, Harry. Promise. Fred and George would help me out, I'd wager."  
  
And, walking toward the stairs with his arm comfortably around his best friend, Ron wanted to think that maybe Harry didn't seem so alone. He hoped it wasn't just wishful thinking. It wasn't okay, not by a long shot. Any fool could see how badly Harry was hurting. And any jokes aside, Ron was no fool. Harry's heart was still broken but Ron refused to let him pull away again. He'd made a promise after all.  
  
It was about baby steps, his mum had told him when he was little and trying to follow Charlie around too soon. It all starts with baby steps. The giant leaps that Ron knew were coming -- far too quickly for his own taste... Well, they'd deal with those when they had to.   
  
The important thing was they wouldn't be alone. They'd deal with them together. Whether Harry liked it or not.  
  
end 


End file.
